


Love Bites 🎃

by murderlight



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Blood, Halloween, Humor, M/M, OR IS HE, Pre-Slash, Slash Goggles, Superstition, Vampires, Witches, and a pumpkin costume, the one where ichigo is just a regular dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 14:00:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21282863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderlight/pseuds/murderlight
Summary: Halloween sucked.Minutes to midnight on the spookiest night of the year, Kurosaki Ichigo learns the world is a far wilder place than he ever imagined--and that blood rules it in more ways than one.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 110
Kudos: 834





	Love Bites 🎃

**Author's Note:**

> Happy late Halloween! Have a completely un-spooky fic. And some gummy worms. 
> 
> The deliciously wonderful banner art comes courtesy of [@trevoshere](https://twitter.com/Trevoshere), who has been encouraging me to write a vampirejow fic since last year. Here it finally is! I hope I did our ideas justice. 😘

Halloween was the absolute worst time of year and Ichigo could prove it.

First of all, every fucker in a cheap bedsheet brandishing a rubber meat cleaver thought it was hilarious to jump out of nowhere and scream in his face. Ichigo had punched exactly three people that day and his fist was getting sore. Technically he’d punched five people, but found out later that three of them had been Keigo switching out masks and lurking near the Unagiya Shop. Ikumi had gotten him the very last time, screeching about stranger danger and how her kid was trying to sleep inside.

But it wasn’t just the damn jump scares. It was the cheap decorations, the ninety-five percent sugar candy that tasted like mothballs being hurled at him from every shop corner, and it was definitely the fact that he’d been working until eleven pm dressed as a giant orange pumpkin waiter for a stupid fucking Halloween party. He been forced into a green bodysuit and a stupid pumpkin lid hat for a couple thousand yen cut of the total profits. Ikumi needed to hurry up and go into money laundering or drug dealing like any other self-respecting single mother.

At least he could take the back streets to get home and avoid the mess of Halloween night getting in his face. Thumbing open his phone, Ichigo scowled at the six texts from his family telling him to hurry up and get back by nine like he promised. They quickly degenerated into abuse and furious memes. The last one was from his father and included an image of the Breaking Bad guy screaming in devastation about something. Beneath it was a knife emoji and a pumpkin, which Ichigo could only assume meant Ikumi had sent Isshin fucking photos of his outfit. And maybe that Isshin had assumed he’d been murdered.

Thankfully the plastic jack-o-lantern part of the costume had been handed in at the office, but the extra time he’d lost doing that meant Ichigo was running through the rain-slick back alleys of Karakura’s seedier club district just before midnight.

On Halloween.

Wearing a trench coat and bodysuit.

The air smelled a lot like stale urine and fresh rain as he wove through narrow alleys and hopped sagging chain link fences. Luckily there was nobody much around; a lot of the places around that area of town were defunct and closed down, mostly just boarded up windows and pseudo-artistic graffiti demonstrating dragon heads and other threatening creatures. Probably a gang thing. Ichigo was pretty sure he saw a lurid blue cat stencilled across a black plywood barrier. Broken glass crunched under his feet as he passed, and for a moment he felt disoriented by his surroundings. Had he missed a turn? Isshin was going to shit a brick if he didn’t make it back before midnight. His father might endorse hands-off parenting but if the twins so much as wobbled a lower lip at him he went berserk. What was a twenty-one year-old adult son living his life compared to Yuzu’s tear-filled eyes?

Ichigo rounded two more corners and came to a dead end before it sank in that he’d totally lost his way. The grid system of commercial blocks shouldn’t have resulted in a fucking labyrinth, should it? Goddamn town planners. Faced with a moss-covered brick wall that looked about a foot thick, Ichigo gave it a kick for good measure and turned back the way he’d come. He stopped short again almost instantly, breath catching in surprise.

Up ahead, a figure was leaning under a flickering blue neon sign, head bowed and foot braced against the wall. Tall, dressed in black, with a crown of wild blond hair. The red coal of a lit cigarette bobbed in the darkness when the light went out with a muted buzz. Ichigo was sure he’d have noticed anyone standing there as he’d run past. Especially someone who looked like…that.

“Great night for getting lost,” the figure said, taking a quiet drag that made the tip of his cigarette flare brightly. Above him, the sign was buzzing as it flashed, trying to come back to life. It said something in a language Ichigo didn’t understand. Spanish, maybe. “Midnight’s coming.” Tilting his head slightly, the guy jerked his chin at Ichigo’s outfit. “Let me guess: street flasher Peter Pan? Kinda niche.”

“No,” Ichigo said flatly, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. The guy seemed amused by his own joke. “I’m just trying to get home. How do I get back onto an actual street from here?”

“You can’t.” Flicking the cigarette away into a puddle, the guy pushed off the wall and started toward him. Ichigo tensed in anticipation of a fight, noting the lean musculature of his frame and his height advantage. Few inches, nothing much. Hard-capped boots could be a problem. Tight jeans would make it hard to kick. Leather jacket for grabbing, unlaced white shirt underneath not good for anything. There was a shock of dyed blue hair hanging over the guy’s brow. The eyes below it had a faint foreign tilt to them—and they were throwing back _light_.

Like he was some kind of animal.

Or a monster.

“What the fuck,” Ichigo breathed, losing his edge, and then the guy was on him.

Screaming didn’t even cross his mind. Surprise whited out his instincts when instead of being punched or hurt, the guy grabbed him at the shoulders and tried to kiss his neck like a striking snake. Oh my god, Ichigo thought in horror, lurking neon sign monster guy was a rapist?! But he was—and why were his eyes so—

“Fucking collar,” the guy snarled, ripping open his coat and shoving it down his shoulders to bind his arms. Surprise shattered into a cacophony of jangling fear and anger. Ichigo rammed his knee into the guy’s crotch at the same time he ducked his head to smash his nose in. Neither connected as he was yanked up into the air by two iron hands, the night sky whirling until he was slammed against the damp brick wall of the club. Head smacking the wall, Ichigo stared up in dizzy shock as the neon sign flared back to life.

_Mala Suerte_, the sign said, right as teeth snapped around his throat.

“FUCK.” The world came rushing back with a flood of adrenaline as his attacker jumped backwards, a hand pressed to the exposed skin of his chest. His canine teeth were an inch long and wet with Ichigo’s blood. His _blood_. Fury and pain had transformed the guy’s features into something bestial. Something inhuman. “What the _fuck_ was that? You got blessed silver on you?! You’re in good with a witch? A familiar? Spit it out!” He took a long step forward again, hand falling away, exposing the smoking brand of Ichigo’s mother’s necklace. A bloody red stylised star was burned into the centre of his chest.

It occurred to Ichigo that he was about to die. Yanking the necklace off with a snap of fragile links, he held the symbol up like a lantern to ward off the dark. The monster shuddered at the sight of it, eyes searching around the alley for anything else to look at. A horrible realisation was swirling in Ichigo’s stomach, something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

That the world wasn’t what he thought it was.

And maybe his mother hadn’t been, either.

Laughter and the sound of bottles smashing approached from the other side of the alley. Drunk trick-or-treaters howled at the moon, propping each other up. The monster wiped his mouth clean and tugged the laces on his shirt closed, concealing the burn.

“Get you next time,” the monster said, jamming his hands into his pockets. The tilt of his mouth was cruel. “Happy Halloween, witch. Don’t think you’ll see the next one.”

Ichigo could have sworn he never took his eyes off him. Not even for a second. But he must have blinked because he was alone in the next second, a thick white mist drifting through the alley. His pounding heart was all he could hear for a long time.

When his legs finally uprooted themselves from the wet concrete, Ichigo turned and ran the entire way home, the pendant clenched firmly in his hand.

* * *

“Do you know how many diseases are contracted from blood ingestion? Halloween or not, that reveller needs to be aware of the risks of biting random strangers,” Isshin said in disgust, swabbing Ichigo’s neck with iodine. “What if you had hepatitis? Talk about getting too serious about the holidays.”

“Why are you worried about him?” Ichigo grouched, trying to get off the end of the hospital bed. Isshin’s clinic opening after midnight hadn’t been officially necessary, but his father had insisted on needing the harsher light. He tried to duck the restraining hand and failed. “I’m the one who had some creep sucking on my neck! There’s blood! Bite marks! I’m a victim here!”

“This is a love bite at best. Be a man about it, Ichigo.” Giving him one final swab with the iodine, Isshin slapped two small band-aids over the bites and pulled off his surgical gloves. Ichigo gingerly pushed at the covered wounds with his fingertips. They didn’t really hurt. Heck, they hadn’t even really hurt at the time, either. Kicking his legs sullenly, he levered himself back onto his feet and pulled the necklace out of his pocket. Isshin hesitated at the sight of it, the jovial light in his expression fading.

“Dad, that thing wasn’t a drugged-up trick-or-treater. It freaked out when I showed it Mom’s necklace.” Isshin took it from his hand, inspecting the broken chain and the pendant. It wasn’t a religious symbol that Ichigo knew of; just a blue star with elongated silver arms extending off each point, and a small silver circle backing the blue from behind. It sure wasn’t some pentagram or a cross or anything. “I’ve worn this thing since the day of her funeral and I don’t even know what it is.” He hesitated an instant. “The monster called me a witch when he saw it.”

If he wasn’t staring at his father’s face as hard as he was he might have missed the slight flinch of his eyelids, quickly masked by a rapid blink. His large thumb rubbed over the face of the star, making it shine. He started to smile his same old dumbass dad smile, but when his eyes found Ichigo’s expression it slid right away.

“There are a lot of secrets in this world, Ichigo, and your mother kept more than her fair share of them. Who knows? I always did think Masaki had a whiff of magic about her.” He handed back the pendant, tugging the broken chain out. “Keep that with you while I take the chain to the jeweller for repair.”

“Magic,” Ichigo said slowly, sounding out the word. His face scrunched up. “You know how batshit crazy that sounds, right?”

“You’re insisting a Halloween fanatic recoiled at her necklace, and I sound crazy? Glass houses, my son.” Isshin’s expression was stern. “Now hurry up and go watch terrible movies with your sisters while I go to bed. I’m too old to be awake at this hour. Why were you out so late in the first place?”

“Ikumi is a sadist, that’s why.”

“Mm. Stunning woman. Masaki would’ve liked her.”

After shouting his father down in case he got any terrifically bad ideas where his boss was concerned, Ichigo took a quick bath in deference to his neck bite and threw the offending green bodysuit in the trash, trading it for a pair of loose sweats and a t-shirt. Street flasher Peter Pan. What the actual fuck. Were vampires funny? Had he _been_ a vampire? Or was he just a Halloween wannabe with weird contact lenses? And a…silver allergy? That burn had looked terrible. Instantaneous, like the pendant had been heated in a forge. To Ichigo’s skin, it had only been warm from his own body.

Confused about his own memory of the night, he went downstairs and threw himself down on the couch between Karin and Yuzu, who were chugging coffee to keep awake. Some slasher movie was playing in the final quarter, if the tense score was any indication. They looked bored to death. They also weren’t talking to him after he’d been three hours late for Spookurosaki Movie Night. The name really could use some work. Grabbing the bowl of cold popcorn, he ate a disinterested handful and watched the movie for a few minutes.

“Do you think vampires are real?” he asked abruptly. On his right, Yuzu’s head whipped around. Karin just snorted. “Some guy bit me tonight and he was kind of…not human. Dad thinks I’m nuts.” On the screen, a man in a mechanic’s onesie and a dirty white mask was stabbing a person with vigour.

“What are we talking here?” Karin asked, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Hissing? Weird accent? Fangs? Wants to make you his bride of the night? Hates garlic?”

“Did he comment on your virginity?” Yuzu asked brightly, a gummy worm hanging out of her mouth. Karin laughed.

“Yeah, did he talk about your dick?”

“My dick is—look, fangs yes, no to everything else.” He ripped half of Yuzu’s worm off and ate it. “And Mom’s necklace burnt a hole in his chest.” He pulled the pendant out of his pocket and had it promptly snatched away by Karin.

“Yo, I’ve seen this symbol somewhere,” she said, pulling her phone out from under her ass and tapping through to the browser. “Doesn’t Uncle Ryuu have this tattoo on his arm or something?”

“Uncle who? Are you being groomed by some kind of paedophile?” Ichigo blurted, alarmed. Yuzu laughed and grabbed the popcorn off him, navigating through the streaming app on the tv. “What?”

“Uncle Ryuu,” Yuzu said, like he might be dumb. “Mom’s cousin’s cousin’s cousin, or whatever. He’s the director of the Karakura Hospital. Dad used to drag us to meetings with him sometimes and show us off. He’s super rich and eligible. I think his son was in your class at school.”

Ichigo tried to think and came up with absolute blanks. “Did anyone tell me I went to school with a distant relative? And why have you seen this hospital guy’s naked arm?” He was rewarded with the mocking laughter of a couple of teenage girls who thought that was absolutely hilarious. Offended, he tried to leave the room but Yuzu grabbed his arm and Karin his leg, hauling him back onto the couch.

“Don’t leave, this sounds like a family secret!” Karin said, still snickering. She was poking his neck where the band-aids covered his bite marks. “This alone just sounds like a junkie on bath salts going crazy, but Mom’s necklace burning him? That’s some Practical Magic shit.”

“Practical what?” Ichigo said helplessly. Karin sighed.

“Yuzu.”

“I’m on it.”

That was how the three of them ended up watching two hours of curses and magic and romance, with absolutely none of it having any bearing on vampires. The only interesting part was the demon bad guy being burned through the hand with a symbol of faith: the cop’s star on his badge. Because he’d believed in what it meant, it had burned the demon. Ghost. Whatever. But that didn’t mean anything for Ichigo. To him, it had just been his mother’s necklace. Still, it had burned the vampire—the guy—the same way. A deep, penetrating burn in the middle of his chest, like hot iron sinking into butter.

“I don’t know,” he said doubtfully as the credits rolled. Yuzu sighed and started scrolling again. “Do you have any vampire movies? Something with being scared of silver or stars and weird glowing animal eyes?”

“Animal eyes?” Karin said interestedly, getting up for a new pot of coffee. “Like cat eyes?”

“Like that glow in the dark flash that they get.” Ichigo thought of something. “What does _Mala Suerte_ mean?”

“Malt Sweat,” Karin repeated, typing it into her phone from the kitchen. “Google says it means you’re stupid. Okay, okay! I’ll try again. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not the one who ruined Spookurosaki Movie Night.”

Another few permutations of the spelling and half a cup of coffee later, Karin crowed with triumph.

“Bad luck! It means bad luck! There’s a local hit for it too: Bad Luck Bar, closed since June ‘02. Most recent listed owner is Hierro Enterprises.” Chewing her lip, Karin tapped something out. “Iron Enterprises. All Spanish. I could probably dig this out a bit more for you, you know. But I’d have to flash some schoolgirl thigh at Uncle Ryuu.”

Ichigo went rigid. “You—”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! You prude! Yuzu, put on some vampire thing to calm him down.”

“Gotcha! Who’s up for seven seasons of Buffy?”

“Do it!”

Ichigo watched a few hours of teenage vampire drama with his sisters, his fingers touching the plastic stuck to his neck thoughtfully. It still didn’t hurt. Was it not meant to hurt? Something to be ignored? Jabbing his fingers hard into the wounds, he expected a deep twinge of pain. Still nothing. Picking the edge back with blunt fingernails, Ichigo caught one band-aid and peeled it off. Then, the other.

“Karin, how does my neck look?”

Karin flicked him a quick look. “Looks like nothing. You sure you got munched by anything? Did you eat the suspicious brownies at that Halloween party?”

“No, it happened!” Ichigo slapped at his neck, fingers running over the bite. There was no indent or tenderness at all. “Dad treated it himself, it was there. I’m not crazy!”

“Maybe Dad was just humouring you,” Yuzu said sympathetically. “He’s done that before with me. When I told him my insides were coming out? He ordered an ultrasound but it was just bad period pain. We both kind of knew it was, but he did it anyway.” Her brown eyes looked up at him with kind understanding, and it was awful. Had he reverse-gaslighted himself? He had eaten some of the appetisers at the party. What if they’d been laced with something? He’d just made a moron of himself in front of his whole family.

But if he had, why was his necklace broken? Why would Isshin humour him that far?

“I’m gonna go to bed,” Ichigo said, shaken. “Maybe things will look more normal when the sun is up.”

“I’ll still look into this star pendant for you,” Karin said, because she loved a challenge. Yuzu just shrugged and exited out of Buffy.

“I’ll keep this in the queue if you need it. Get some sleep, I guess.”

“Right,” Ichigo said, feeling itchy across his shoulders. Halfway up the stairs, he heard Yuzu whisper to her sister.

“What a crappy Halloween.”

“Leave him alone,” Karin whispered back. “He works a lot so he can move out. Nobody wants to live with us forever.”

Ichigo grit his teeth and pounded up the stairs, his hand pressed to his unmarked throat.

There was definitely a mystery there and he was going to find it, come silver stars or surprise uncles.

He wasn’t crazy.

He wasn’t.

* * *

The next day dawned overcast and unseasonably hot for autumn. Thunder was rumbling in the distance somewhere and the clouds were dark with the promise of rain, but mostly it was just humid as all hell. Ichigo wiped his forehead with his free hand as he slowly circled the alleyway corner where he’d been attacked, taking as many photos as he could.

The bar definitely looked like some kind of creepy lair. Windows were all boarded up with black painted plywood and nailed into place, sealing out absolutely all sunlight. And sure, it was probably a security measure for an unoccupied building to keep everyone out. Thick steel chains were wound around the handles of heavy double doors that were reinforced with metal, which was fixed in place with studs that looked like they belonged on a military vessel’s hull. The door had been blue once, but the paint had faded and peeled away in long strips. A padlock bigger than Ichigo’s entire fist held the chains in place.

“Guess I’m not getting in anytime soon.” He took some close-up photos of the padlock, wondering where the hell you could even buy something like that.

Above the double doors was another neon sign like the one around the back, only bigger. Dull black tubes held up on a wire grid frame showed the bar name again, and an outline of a cat. Symbol of bad luck, Ichigo guessed, snapping a picture of it too. There was no such thing as too much random evidence, right? He headed around the back to the corner where the guy had got him. The layout of the alleys behind the bar seemed completely different and not at all confusing in daylight. How had he gotten so turned around? He refused to believe his sense of direction was that bad. There was nothing threatening there except for some broken glass on the ground and a few puddles of what he hoped was water. Just concrete and the hidden inner network of alleys that ran through the centre of the sprawling city block. At worst he was likely to be mugged.

Ichigo knew he had less than nothing to go on from his experience last night. There was no street surveillance, there hadn’t been any witnesses. Just a broken necklace chain and some missing buttons on his coat. The bar was really all he had. If the guy had just been loitering in the area and didn’t have any attachment to it then Ichigo was going to officially be out of clues. If only he could get inside somehow…

Well, he didn’t have a reputation for being a delinquent asshole for nothing, Ichigo thought as he opened an industrial sized dumpster, noting it was almost completely empty except for some old junk mail. It wasn’t addressed to anyone other than ‘the business owner’ and looked mostly like it was just marketing companies and real estates interested in offering appraisals. “Fucking recycle, asshole.”

At least if someone was getting rid of the mail it was an actual sign of life there. Undead life, maybe, but life.

Jumping up on top of the dumpster, feet skidding on the angled lid til he got his bearings, Ichigo grabbed the edge of the roof and tried to haul himself up. It had a damn high ceiling or possibly roof storage, he thought as he tried to do the world’s worst pull-up, swinging to get the toe of his sneaker up there with him so he could roll over the concrete lip of the roof.

“This…had better be worth it,” Ichigo panted up at the grey sky, flat on his back on the roof of a derelict bar possibly owned by a crazed monster. He sat up with a groan, quickly patting himself down. Phone, check. Magical silver star pendant, check. Wallet, check check.

The roof looked like it had been…lived on. There was a packet of cigarettes and a plastic outdoor chair up there, sitting near a large square hatch in the roof. It was closed. But there were empty beer bottles left around the place and one that was being used as an ashtray near the chair. There was a small pile of papers next to the chair that was being held down by a rock. Ichigo practically dove on them, eagerly scanning them for anything that might say _the dude who lives here is Dracula_. Instead what he got was a bunch of notices from the city council about improving the neighbourhood and incentives to return to business or face a penalty and be forced to sell. They were addressed to Hierro Enterprises. No name.

“Fuck,” Ichigo said, taking photos of everything like a novice reporter. Or Lois Lane. Or some kind of stalker.

There wasn’t really anything up there to go on. When he yanked on the hatch it didn’t even rattle. It was either heavier than Ichigo could hope to lift or it was bolted so tightly from inside there wasn’t a chance he could get through it without like, a laser or something. But boy, did he try anyway. For half an hour he tried.

Using up his entire morning before work trying to think of ways to get in was putting him a bad mood. Time to get creative.

Smashing one of the beer bottles until he had a strong edge he could use, Ichigo cleared a space at the foot of the chair and got to work. If he couldn’t go to the monster, maybe he could make it come to him. Was it a huge risk that might end in death and suffering? Maybe, but Ichigo couldn’t help smiling to himself a little later when he got down from the roof and started heading to the Unagiya Shop, fingers tight around the pendant in his pocket.

The monster might be private and security conscious, but finding someone had cleaned up the rooftop only to leave a crude drawing of a star captioned with '_why did this symbol make you its bitch?_' underneath it was sure to get some kind of reaction, which was what he really needed.

The '_btw i pissed in your cigarette packet_' was pure spite, though.

* * *

Work passed the way it always did: running menial errands for people and being occasionally slapped across the head by Ikumi between ‘missions’. Ichigo mowed lawns and took loads of clothing to the laundromat for housebound old people who couldn’t afford disabled ramps, walked angry dogs with irritable bowel syndrome, washed windows and tightened hinges on doors. The usual stuff really, just regulars who needed help each week. Ichigo had loudly complained about the cleaning the first few times it was assigned to him, but Ikumi didn’t cut him any slack on it. Turned out that as he got to know the clients he realised they were mostly old, disabled or in need of a friendly face now and then. Ikumi liked to pretend she was a hardass but Ichigo had come to know better. Maybe because he was a little bit the same.

He was almost finished securing a wooden board down over shallow steps for Takeda-san’s wheelchair when a footstep scraped the concrete behind him.

“Can I help you?” Ichigo asked, not looking up. A few more nails would do it. “It’s a temporary setup, totally removable so there’s no permit needed.” There was no immediate reply. Dropping the hammer with a thump, he sat back and wiped his sweaty forehead. “Well?”

“Look at me.” The voice held a steely command. Ichigo turned and blinked up at a middle-aged man with prematurely white hair and glasses. He was wearing a pale suit that looked perfectly tailored. “Kurosaki Ichigo. You do have the look of your mother.”

“Who the hell are you?” Ichigo asked, shooting to his feet. “How do you know me?” His tone earned him a cold, assessing look that seemed to scan through him. He felt like he was being x-rayed by some kind of machine, and it didn’t like what it found.

“I am Ishida Ryuuken, last surviving practitioner of the white arts and a relative of your late mother’s. Your sister Karin tells me you are enquiring about the sigil Masaki willed to you after she passed. The cross.”

“It’s actually more like a star,” Ichigo said guardedly, trying not to scowl. “How did you find me here?”

Ryuuken’s mouth flattened. “I could say magic, however Karin gave me the number of your employer. Unagiya-san was extremely happy to give me the information once I booked a recurring delivery service for five times the usual rate. You will deliver my groceries once a week, every week at six pm on a Friday. Your training will begin then.” He held out a business card. “My home address is on the back.”

Ichigo stared at the card without taking it. “You can’t just summon me like a damn slave!”

“Of course I can. I’ve hired you.” Ryuuken’s expression hardened at his hesitation. “Take the card, boy. I’m offering to do what your father never could: gift you with the knowledge and power of the entire Kurosaki line.” Cold blue eyes narrowed behind wire-framed glasses. “Your mother was quite formidable, you know. Until she was killed.” He pressed the card into Ichigo’s numb fingers and squeezed them closed around it. “What came for her may one day come for you and your sisters. Six pm Friday, Ichigo. Do not be late.”

Ichigo didn’t see him leave, but that was no surprise. He didn’t know how long he stood there blankly looking out at the street, a card in one hand and a reeling head full of questions. Eventually he blinked and swallowed, shoving the card into his pocket. The sun was starting to go down, and he had to get home.

The world had changed inside of a day. Or maybe it hadn’t.

Maybe Ichigo was just waking up to what had always been going on around him.

White arts. Vampires.

His mother, the witch.

Seriously, fuck Halloween. Nothing good _ever_ came out of Halloween.

* * *

“Mom wasn’t randomly attacked while crossing the park, was she? She was murdered on purpose.” They were the very first words out of Ichigo’s mouth as he strode into the clinic where his father was cheerfully sterilising his equipment. Isshin dropped his scalpel on the floor and sighed with long-suffering regret.

“Damn it, Ichigo, I just finished with that one,” he complained, bending down to collect it. His knee cracked like a gunshot in the silence of the room.

“I don’t care. Tell me the truth about her. About what happened.”

“There’s nothing I can tell you. Your mother’s family did have enemies, as dramatic as it sounds. She was never one to keep quiet and keep to tradition, either, or she’d never have married me.” Isshin stared at the scalpel and frowned. “One day she went out to collect you from school and never came home. You’d know more than I do. You were there when it happened.”

“You know I don’t remember anything about that day.” Leaning heavily on the old wooden desk his father used at the back of the clinic, Ichigo felt nothing but tired. “We did all the therapy, all the hypnosis, and nothing. Just a total blank on the entire day.”

“Trauma blackout,” Isshin agreed. “And the police never found a thing. Look, Ichigo. I never pried into Masaki’s family. She was all but estranged from them by the time we met. It took Ryuuken five years before he’d even own up to the distant relation, and I’ve known that man half my damn life. They’re a secretive bunch of insular freaks, if you ask me. Probably paranoid to boot.” Seeing Ichigo’s face, he grumbled to himself, tossing his scalpel onto a tray and taking him by the shoulders. “He called me today about booking you each Friday. If you want answers, start with him. God knows I could never get anything useful out of him.”

“He gives me the creeps.”

“He gives everyone the creeps.” Jiggling Ichigo’s shoulders until he stopped frowning so hard, Isshin tried for a smile. “So, did you find your Halloween fan?”

“No, but I think he lives at the club I told you about. I got up on the roof and took some photos.” Ichigo passed his phone across and watched his father frown as he flicked his way through them all.

“What’s leaking out of the cigarette packet in this last one?”

“No idea,” Ichigo replied hastily, taking his phone back. “Anyway, I’m going to watch TV with Karin and Yuzu. I think they’re pretty mad at me for ruining Halloween. Do you think they’d let me do a do-over of Spookurosaki Movie Night?”

“What do I look like, their father? Go ask them. I have instruments to sterilise.” He was all but kicked out after that.

The twins, as it turned out, very much wanted a do-over and still had an amazing stash of Halloween candy and chocolate to go through. Most of it was just leftovers from handing out to children, eagerly poured into bowls while popcorn was freshly popped in the microwave. Yuzu had declared they were riding the vampire train and lined up every unromantic vampire movie she could find available to stream. Something about education and entertainment rolled into one. Ichigo just took a shower while they prepped and closed his bedroom curtains, turning on the lamp for later. It wasn’t full dark yet, but part of him wondered if that guy could track him down somehow. If a bloodhound could do it—

Maybe he wasn’t actually a vampire, Ichigo told himself crossly. The more he thought about the night before the more he doubted his instincts. Cheap contact lenses and some fake fangs. A guy who took Halloween too seriously who lived at the abandoned bar. It could all be totally explained. Everything except the burn. And that fact that creepy Uncle Ryuu had just told him his mother had something to do with whatever the white arts were.

Well, whatever. He didn’t have the brain power to be thinking about it anymore. Maybe the guy would find him, maybe Ichigo would get back there tomorrow and find the place had been cleaned out. Maybe he’d have a reply. Now that was an exhilarating idea. Playing penpal with a mysterious creature of the night? That he could do.

The absurdity of Ichigo looking forward to seeing the guy who bit him on the neck and quite possibly intended to kill him wasn’t lost on him. It just wasn’t as important as solving the mystery of derelict bar vampire guy. That was all.

Amused at his own priorities, Ichigo headed downstairs to watch bad movies with his sisters. At least he could try to be a good brother while coming up with ways to get out of Ryuuken’s socially questionable indentured servitude dates.

What a dweeb.

* * *

Three movies and a lot of refined sugar later, Ichigo was a little too freaked out and wired to sleep but trying anyway. None of those movies seemed to agree on anything. Yes garlic, no garlic. Sunlight no, sunlight yes. Sunlight yes but only with sunscreen. Seriously, what about their eyeballs? You couldn’t put sunscreen on eyeballs. Maybe people just made up bullshit to fit their own narrative. Maybe that was exactly what Ichigo was doing. Ryuuken might just be a new age aromatherapy guy or a secret yogi or something. Maybe Mom had just really been into making her own organic soaps. Maybe the alleyway monster was just a—

Something hit the window with a loud bang. Ichigo yelped and bolted upright on his bed, heart hammering madly in his chest. It almost hurt. Was it a heart attack? Was he having a heart attack? Panting with the sudden adrenaline rush, trying to keep quiet, he scrambled up onto his knees and pulled the edge of the curtain aside to look out the window.

Nothing there. The night outside looked quiet.

Biting his cheek, Ichigo wondered if he was about to do something crazy or necessary to get his answers. He pulled the window open and stuck his head out.

“Hello?” Again, nothing. His window sat above the extended roof of the clinic so there was something of a platform there—he used to use it himself to sneak out of the house back when he was in school. Past it was the fence and a small thoroughfare, but there was nobody around throwing balls or anything. Disappointed, Ichigo pulled his head back in and rested his elbows on the windowsill, frowning out at the night. Maybe it had just been a dumb bird.

“Up here, stupid.”

Ichigo blood froze. Slowly, he lifted his eyes by degrees until he could see the owner of the voice.

It was a bat. A large, furry, leather-winged black bat with a weird little rodent face and big round ears. It was half-wrapped in its own wings, hanging upside down from the eaves. It was looking at him with button black eyes that flashed in the faint light from the street.

Ichigo struggled not to wet himself.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” replied the bat, and spread its wings. Chittering madly, a huge mist burst out around its furry body, forming a cyclone around it and the entire roof of the clinic. Ichigo yelled something unintelligible at the sight and lurched back from the window, grabbing the curtains for balance as his foot slipped. They ripped off the rail one by one, tipping him into the space between his bed and the wall. His jaw hit the skirting board, pain bursting across his mouth at the impact. Scrambling up, ignoring the swelling corner of his lip, Ichigo peered out the window like a nervous squirrel.

The vampire looked right back.

He was still wearing his leather jacket and black jeans, if the melted shadow silhouette of him was any indication. His blond hair was swept up and forward in a mess of weird spiky tendrils that made no sense unless there was a lot of gel involved. Ichigo hadn’t imagined the chunk of blue that hung down over his brow either; it was a pale blue, like the sky. Not the kind of sky any vampire had seen, if the movies were right. Sharp blue eyes studied him, smudged with black and teal in the corners like some kind of rock idol. The guy—the vampire—looked interesting. Sort of pointy and badass. There were no fangs on display.

Nonchalantly, like he had nowhere else to be, the vampire leaned his elbows on the window ledge and lit up a fresh cigarette. The smoky exhale of his first drag was blown slowly into Ichigo’s face, his eyes never wavering. There was no animal flash that time. He just looked like a guy.

“You owe me a new pack.” Pleasantries were for fools, apparently. “How come I’m still alive, huh?”

“Huh?” Ichigo repeated, his fingertips sore with how hard he was gripping his side of the windowsill. “You were the one trying to kill me.” Blue eyes flicked to his neck and away. Ichigo restrained an urge to cover his neck with his hand. “How’s the burn?”

“Don’t you know?”

“No.”

“Some fucking witch.”

“I’m not a witch.” That earned him a snarl, the curl of the vampire’s lip exposing a slowly sharpening pair of canines. Ichigo swallowed. “I mean it. But I think my mother was.”

“Was?”

“She’s been dead for twelve years.” There was no outward reaction to that, just a long stare and another, deeper drag on his cigarette. Ichigo went a step further. “They never figured out who killed her.”

“Rest in peace,” the vampire said, and laughed like it was something funny. Ichigo hauled back and punched him in the nose.

Or he would have, but the vampire caught his wrist the moment it passed the window and yanked, tumbling Ichigo through the barrier it had been making the entire time. A vampire couldn’t come in uninvited, Ichigo thought with a bottomless feeling of foolishness, slamming his hip on the frame and almost going headfirst down the slope of the clinic roof. The only thing that stopped him was the iron hand on his wrist. Ichigo almost thanked the vampire for the save until he saw the glint of catlike fangs in the instant before they were buried in his wrist.

“Ow!” Horrified, he watched with his other fist cocked as the fangs pulled out of his wrist and a long, deep suction of lips on his skin sealed all the way around the wound. The guy was sucking on his arm like it was a giant nipple.

And from the fluttering eyelids and the low moan in his throat, the vampire was really enjoying it.

“Gross,” Ichigo breathed, his fist going limp. There was a rocker vampire from the eighties sucking on his arm. “Aren’t you worried about hepatitis? What if I’ve been having dirty unprotected sex with half the town?”

Smudged lids lifted to reveal a sardonic blue gaze. Ichigo scowled.

“You don’t have to say it like that.” Grabbing the dyed blue forelock because it stood out, Ichigo yanked on it until the vampire’s mouth gave way, giving him the obscene image of a tongue running up his wrist to catch a stray bead of blood. Snatching his arm back, Ichigo gauged the distance back to the window and figured he could make it.

“You won’t make it,” the vampire said on a long, contented sigh. “Not if I wanted to stop you.”

“Do you?”

“You pissed on my cigarettes. You’re lucky I don’t roll a new one out of your skin.” When Ichigo just squinted at him, wondering why his alarm bells weren’t all ringing at once, the vampire crouched and sat just under his bedroom window. “Full moon tonight. Halloween never quite nails it, huh.” Narrowed eyes flicked all over him. “Quit squeezing your arm like that. It’s not gonna bleed.”

Realising he was clenching the bite on his arm like it was going to spring a leak and kill him, Ichigo looked down and took his fingers away. There were already two healthy pink wounds in his arm, nicely healing like the bite had happened a week ago. Holy shit. Slowly, he sank down to the tiled slope of the roof, not caring that he was only wearing sweatpants and that his mother’s pendant was inside on his desk. Wouldn’t he be dead already if the vampire wanted him that way?

“Are you here to get information from me? About—witches?”

The vampire laughed, teeth shining in the streetlight. “I know witches, kid. I got enough scars on me from their magic to know ‘em real well.” Reaching over without looking, he grabbed Ichigo’s arm and hauled him along until they sat flush together. “What I want to know is why you don’t. It’s not often I let my prey run unharmed.”

“You literally bit my neck.”

“Just a love bite.” Pulling open the laces on his shirt, the vampire revealed a pale scar imprinted just under the centre of his collarbone. It was the exact shape of the pendant. “I’d say you got me back for it.”

Ichigo looked at the scar for a while longer. It almost looked like a stamp of ownership. Something intentional.

“Is that going to be permanent?”

“Permanent as they get.”

“Because it’s blessed silver,” Ichigo said, sounding it out. “Man, this is the weirdest bullshit I’ve ever seen in my life. How can there be vampires and witches running around town this entire time and nobody ever saw it happen? How long have you lived here? Do you know Ryuuken?”

The vampire shifted irritably away, frowning at all the questions. Switching his cigarette to the corner of his mouth, he jammed his thumb against Ichigo’s sore lip and swiped it away. There was blood on his thumb. He looked at it for a long moment.

“You’ve really got no fuckin’ clue, huh? No powers, no clan, no idea. I could drain you dry right here and there’d be nothing to stop me. Drop your corpse on that white master’s doorstep like a late Halloween surprise.” He swiped the blood across his own lip, strange eyes glittering. “Or I could turn you.”

Trying to punch the vampire had been a really, really bad idea. The guy could kill him on the spot and as it was becoming more and more apparent, he wasn’t exactly sane or nice. And Ichigo had pissed in his cigarette packet. Fucking moron! He’d learned not to goad people stronger than him just in time to be brutally murdered—or changed into a vampire. Shit. Fucking typical.

“I don’t want to be your dark bride,” Ichigo said crossly, angry with himself. “And if the white master you’re talking about is Ryuuken, he won’t give a shit if you kill me. He’s just some relative of my mother’s before she ditched her family.” When the vampire didn’t even blink, just kept staring at him with those weird hypnotic eyes, Ichigo thought about what he could say to dissuade him from murder. What did they say about hostage situations? Try to humanise yourself? Not exactly a good idea since humans were food, but the idea had merit. “We’re doing this all backwards, you know. My name’s Ichigo. Not exactly nice to meet you.” Turning slightly, he held out his hand to shake. Finally, the vampire blinked.

“Grimmjow.” Grabbing the hand, he tugged it forward and bit into Ichigo’s wrist a second time.

“Ow! The power of Christ compels you!” Ichigo cracked his knuckles down on the top of the vampire—Grimmjow’s—head with all the force he could muster. The vampire laughed around the bite so unexpectedly that he spat blood all over Ichigo’s bare chest. “You sick fuck!” He shook his arm as violently as he could until Grimmjow leaned back and wiped his mouth with his wrist, still shaking with silent laughter. His fangs were long, standing out in a wide hunter’s grin. He looked unexpectedly delighted at the sight of all the blood he’d sprayed on Ichigo.

“You know that shit only works in the movies, right?” He ducked as Ichigo tried to punch him again, leaning back and grabbing him at his ribs. Yanking him forward, Grimmjow licked a long, hot, incredibly wet stripe from Ichigo’s navel to his pecs. “Kinda soapy. You’re one of those clean types.” He continued licking the blood away under Ichigo’s deer-in-headlights stare of horror. Hitting him wasn’t doing anything. Chanting religious shit he’d seen in a movie didn’t help. He didn’t have any wood or silver or sunlight, he—

Against his will, Ichigo squirmed and made a weird sound right as Grimmjow’s tongue worked around the side of his chest. “Cut it out! That tickles.”

“Doing you a favour here.”

“Replacing my blood with your spit isn’t really an upgrade. Besides, you’re the one who spat it all over me in the first place.” Blue eyes flicked up to him in consideration, and after a moment Grimmjow snorted and let him go. Ichigo hit the roof tiles with unexpected force. Had he been leaning into his strength that much? “Stop trying to eat me and answer my questions.”

Grimmjow was too busy looking around for his discarded cigarette amongst the neatly overlapping tiles. When he couldn’t find it, he swore and pulled a crumpled packet out of his jacket pocket. The lighter he pulled out had a black cat on it. A really familiar cat. Seeing Ichigo staring at it, Grimmjow lit up with a quick inhale and passed it across, this time exhaling into the breeze away from his face.

It was a promotional lighter for the bar, Ichigo realised, lighting it to see the design properly. A black cat on a blue background. On the other side, _Mala Suerte_ was written in a stylised italic script. There was some text at the bottom that might have been an address. He started to hand it back, then stuffed it in the pocket of his sweatpants. Grimmjow frowned.

“Fuckin’ thief.”

“Payment for your drink,” Ichigo retorted. “Now come on, tell me about witches. And vampires.”

“Go ask your shitty witch master. Do I look like I came here to teach you anything?”

“How did you find me here?” He was rewarded with an irritated, scrunched up glare. “Come on, you’re obviously not going to kill me because you think Ryuuken will get revenge, so you might as well give up. I know where you live.”

“You know where my bar is,” Grimmjow corrected, but he looked pissed off. Ichigo just waited patiently, trying not to scratch at his chest. He could still feel the echo of a wet tongue painting lines all over it. He was a tetchy chain smoking asshole with no personal boundaries, but it seemed a little like he didn’t mind Ichigo that much. Maybe he just didn’t have any friends—or he really was still tossing up whether to kill him or not.

Ichigo was just starting to give up as the silence stretched too far, when Grimmjow tongued at one of his fangs and let out a short, annoyed breath.

“It’s a new blood thing. For about a week I can find my victim again. If I get more blood in that time, I can usually find them anywhere. The more I have, the better I sense ‘em.” He nodded at Ichigo’s arm. “Only got a few drops last night, but with that amount just now I can feel your mind a little.”

Ichigo tensed. “You can read my mind?”

“Nah, fuck that. I don’t need to know what you’re thinking.” He took a deep drag and gave Ichigo another one of those considering sidelong glances. “S’pose I can feel that you’re not afraid right now. Call it an annoying fringe benefit of keeping my eye on you. Why aren’t you afraid?”

It was a surprise, being told what he wasn’t feeling, and it made Ichigo want to instinctively argue that he was scared. Any normal person would be, and until the night before he’d been absolutely sure that he was a normal person. Except having it pointed out to him like that, pinned under a catlike gaze, Ichigo realised it was true. He wasn’t afraid, and the vampire seemed just as curious about him. He was just hiding it a lot better.

“I guess—”

White light flashed in the corner of Ichigo’s eye, as bright and blue-white as a streaking comet. An arrow of pure light slammed into Grimmjow’s chest with the force of a colliding bus, throwing him into the wall of the house so hard the wood panelling cracked. It blazed like a fallen star in the centre of his chest, illuminating Grimmjow’s shocked face. The eyes he turned to Ichigo were agonising—and then they were simply furious. Hateful. Deadly. Mist exploded around the arrow, melting Grimmjow’s body away into so much condensation and air.

The arrow, now buried in the side of the house, had gone straight through his body. His heart. The vampire—Grimmjow—had been staked. Just like in the movies. Ichigo watched in fixated horror as the arrow of light vanished with everything else, leaving him alone in a smothering darkness, blinking away stars.

He knelt there for a long time, until his heart had calmed down and the serenity of the night returned. For just a single, brief moment Ichigo had felt like he was about to learn all the secrets of the universe. To join a world he’d never known had existed. Maybe to even make a friend. All gone now because of one blinding arrow of white light.

Ichigo felt like he knew exactly where that arrow had come from, and why it had been able to find a vampire on his rooftop in the middle of the night. Maybe Ryuuken thought that Masaki’s son was off-limits to the undead.

Well, fuck that.

Nobody was going to dictate to Ichigo how to live and who to associate with.

* * *

“We don’t tell Uncle Ryuu anything anymore,” Ichigo said over breakfast the next morning. His eyes were burning with lack of sleep and he felt wound up and too-hot, like something in him was getting ready to explode. “He’s not part of this family and he doesn’t get to know our business.” Across the table, Yuzu and Karin blinked at him.

“Jeez, what happened?” Karin asked, buttering her toast without looking. “I only talked to him yesterday about Mom’s necklace and how you thought some creep had recognised it and tried to attack you. You know, took out all the crazy in your story. What did he do?” She took a huge bite and reached for her juice, mixing the two in her mouth like a heathen. At the head of the table, Isshin scratched his stubble and waited.

How much to tell them? Everything? Nothing? Lie?

“Just…don’t talk to him anymore. He’s got some kind of fixation on Mom and he said a lot of creepy things.” Ichigo looked at his father. “I’m going to see him on Friday to tell him to get lost. Is that going to make your meetings harder?”

“No,” Isshin said way too cheerfully. “He already hates me for marrying his fiancee.”

Chopsticks clattered into bowls as Yuzu and Ichigo shot to their feet. Karin was choking quietly on her mush. Isshin’s brows rose in smug innocence.

“Did I forget to tell you all that part?”

“Yes you did!” Yuzu burst out, looking deviously delighted. “Buried family secrets! This is like an episode of This Is Us! Uncle Ryuu wanted to marry Mom but you stole her away, didn’t you?”

“Not quite, my gossip-loving hatchling!” Isshin replied. “You see, my dearly departed wife was already arranged to be married when we met.”

“Ew,” Karin rasped, still coughing a little. “Arranged?”

“Since birth.”

“Ew!” Yuzu squealed, her eyes shining. “But she met you and fell in love, right? And ditched the whole family and left all the money and wealth behind to work as a nurse in your clinic and—and eat off each other’s plates and look at the sunsets and—”

“My darling, please stop ruining Daddy’s story with your accurate predictions! But yes, more or less that was the case. She told me just enough about the family drama that I took her name when we married. If we hadn’t, the Ishida bloodline would have some greater claim to something. Who knows? Yuzu-chan, is there any more of the egg scramble you made? This smoked salmon you mixed in is delicious!”

Ichigo sat down as Yuzu bustled around to get the rest of breakfast from the kitchen, his mind flying through possibilities. Had it been a bloodline purity thing? Witches marrying witches? Maybe he was some kind of halfbreed in Ryuuken’s eyes. Maybe he’d actually loved Mom. Maybe he was just out for vampire genocide. Had it even been him? It was naive to think there was only one vampire and only one witch in all of Karakura. And hadn’t Yuzu said something about Ryuuken having a son?

He ate his breakfast without really tasting it, staring at his bowl as he tried to work through everything. Maybe he should tell someone. Dad? The twins? Would they end up blabbing it or having him committed?

Turning his right arm over, Ichigo swallowed at the sight of completely unmarked skin. Twice he’d been bitten and there was nothing left behind, while the cut in the corner of his mouth was still puffy and tender. If his wounds could regenerate so fast, maybe a vampire could survive something like an arrow of light.

“Hey, Karin. If a vampire gets staked in the chest somehow and turns into mist and vanishes, do you think he’s dead?”

“Nope,” she said dismissively.

“No way!” Yuzu called from the kitchen.

“Of course not,” Isshin said, then cleared his throat. “The movies have always been clear on this: unless you see their withered corpse and take its head off with a blessed silver axe, that vampire is almost certainly going to come back.” He shovelled a massive load of egg into his mouth as Ichigo stared at him and chewed energetically. “My son, fruit of my loins, it sounds like you have some learning to do.”

Oddly buoyed by their unanimous opinion—and more than a little suspicious about exactly how much Isshin knew—Ichigo finished up and headed into town. He wasn’t due at the Unagiya Shop until midday, which gave him some time to check out the bar and leave a new message. If Grimmjow had survived that attack then he probably thought that Ichigo had something to do with it, if that parting look had been an indication. No way was he going to be implicated in that shit.

The dumpster was still in the same place, something Ichigo was relieved about before he even realised he’d been worried. It was his only path onto the roof, and if Grimmjow had figured it out then moving it would have been simple for something as strong as him. Ichigo vaulted up onto it and jumped again, this time easily catching the lip of the roof and swinging himself up over it. Pleased at his own athleticism, he dusted his jeans down and looked around the rooftop.

There was blood everywhere.

Ichigo’s stomach dropped as he slowly approached the hatch, following what looked like a landing and a staggered path over to the metal door. Dried pools of blood. A couple of handprints to match on either side of it. He’d fallen face down. Gotten up, wove a path that meandered a little. Another puddle and handprint. Finally, a spattering trail led to the hatch. The handle was grainy when Ichigo touched it, and his fingers came away dusted with brownish-red.

Grimmjow hadn’t been killed. Not immediately, anyway. He’d survived the arrow and made it back to the bar, but was he dead inside? Had he bled out? Ichigo tried hauling on the hatch again and again in every position he could think of, but it never budged. Thwarted and worried and pissed off about both, he started pacing the length of the rooftop while he thought about what to do. The whole place was lightproof, which meant windows were out of the question. Doors were heavy, metal and chained. And what would he even do if he could get in? Offer his blood? He’d already given him a solid donation bag’s worth of it the night before. He was absolutely no use at all.

“Damn it,” Ichigo said softly, pulling the notepad and pen he’d brought out of his pocket.

<strike> _I just want you to know I had nothing to do with_ </strike>

<strike> _I don’t know who that was or_ </strike>

_ <strike>Sorry about your chest</strike> _

Ichigo swore softly and thought about how to even begin leaving a damn message that wouldn’t be mistaken for an admission of guilt or look like an outright lie. Maybe there was no way he could. If the vampire survived he’d definitely want to come and kill him. Maybe he’d want to do it even if he did believe Ichigo was innocent. That he hadn’t knowingly used himself as bait. Chewing on the end of the pen, Ichigo scratched out a short note and ripped off the page, putting it on the worn chair. He left the lighter on top of it as a paperweight to keep it there. It sucked, because he’d really wanted to keep it.

_I was going to say ‘I guess because you seem kinda cool, even if you’ve probably just given me like ten diseases.’_

_I hope you’re okay._

_—Ichigo_

_P.S: I didn’t piss on the lighter._

It wasn’t exactly a thoughtful note, but it was honest and it was the best he could do.

* * *

“You’ve been working extremely hard today, Ichigo-chan,” Ikumi noted somewhat suspiciously. She took a small slug from her beer and threw her legs up on the coffee table. “You didn’t even complain when I had you clean up all the dog shit in Saya-san’s backyard. And then mow it! Are you dying? Is it cancer? It’s cancer isn’t it. My god, and you’re so young.”

“Shut up. I just couldn’t be bothered arguing.” He couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice. Ikumi might call him stupid names and send him on literally shitty jobs, but she was also a world-class meddler and had a talent for dragging the truth out of him whether he wanted to divulge it or not. “Are you really going to make me run the Ishida groceries every week?”

“What, you hate money? No wonder you stay working for me.” When he didn’t immediately rise to the bait, Ikumi’s dark brows drew together thoughtfully. She lunged forward and grabbed her second beer from the table and twisted the top off with her teeth. Ichigo took the offering but didn’t drink right away. “He’s paying us five times the rate, just to deliver some organic vegetables to his door each Friday. Now I know you’re dying to move out of home, so why would Kurosaki Ichigo not want to visit the Ishida mansion?”

Ichigo blinked. “Mansion?”

“Sure. The Ishida family is loaded. They own controlling interest in the biggest hospital in Karakura, along with a few downtown establishments and property. Ishida Ryuuken is the last of their line, so he controls the entire fortune.”

“Second last,” Ichigo said unthinkingly. “I heard he has a son.” He took a small sip of the beer and grimaced. “This is warm.”

“There’s a lot of charm in a warm beer and a quiet afternoon after a long day of hard work. Also it’s free and it was going to be mine, so shut the hell up.” Tugging the edge of her motorcycle glove down with her teeth, Ikumi scowled. “Look, if you have some grievance with the Ishidas, I’m not going to force you. I’m not going to prostitute you out, so quit looking like that. Are you in some kind of trouble with them?”

“No. Well, I don’t think so. I just have a bad feeling about Ryuuken.” Impulsively, he added, “He was in an arranged engagement with my mother before she ditched him for dad.”

Ikumi whistled. “Can you blame her? Kurosaki Isshin is whiskery, brawny sex in a pristine lab coat. Ichigo-chan? You’re looking a bit green. Is it all the sex talk? The sex talk about your father? Your really good-looking father? Hey, don’t drink that so fast, I know you’re a secret lightweight.”

Luckily, Ikumi changed tactic and grabbed the cordless phone from between the couch cushions, rifling through her address book for a particular number. She started dialling before Ichigo could make the correct deduction.

“Yes, Ishida-san? It’s Unagiya Ikumi from the Unagiya Shop. Unfortunately I realise now that I’ve double-booked my best and brightest employee, and in order to maintain the integrity of the business, we can’t accept your…twenty thousand yen? Per delivery?! Well that’s—” Ikumi glanced over at Ichigo and blinked, “—that’s just excessive and frankly, extremely poor form to be rubbing your financial privilege in the face of my humble family business! Your offer is declined! Good day, sir!” Yanking the phone back from her ear, it took her a few seconds to locate the ‘end’ button and jam her thumb into it. The resounding beep of the call ending hung in the air until she sighed. “You know, I miss corded phones. Hanging up gave so much more satisfaction back then. Are you happy now?”

“Not really,” Ichigo admitted, picking at the label on his beer. “I know you could use that money. I was even thinking we could put a little aside each week until we have enough to give Takeda-san a real wheelchair ramp. That patch job I put down is going to warp after the first week of heavy rain.” He shrugged, not lifting his head. “I just think that guy is bad news for my family. Sorry.” He took another swallow of his beer.

“Oh, fuck that guy,” Ikumi said baldly. “I like money but I chose this work to help the community as much as anything, and this Ishida guy was taking up a weekly slot for no reason other than he could. If anything, Ichigo-chan, you did me a favour. But if you feel guilty, you can repay me by setting me up with your father.”

“Yuzu would stab you in the throat while you sleep.”

“And rightly so! Except I only want to fuck Isshin on a semi-regular basis, not replace your dead mother. So unless she’s filling that criteria too—”

Ichigo was out the door and onto the street before he could even register moving. God. God. She’d barely had one damn beer! He got on okay with Ikumi, if not her Oedipus complex-afflicted son Kaoru, but sometimes she flew out with some of the worst shit he’d ever heard. And then made him imagine those things in ways that half a warm beer could never erase. He actually got six blocks away before realising he’d been heading in the complete wrong direction to home. The sun was a brilliant red smear on the horizon by then, already sinking below the trees. He always finished late with Ikumi, so technically it was pretty early for a Thursday. He wouldn’t be late getting home by regular standards.

The part of town he was in was upper market, past the spacious apartments stacked on top of each other and more into actual spacious blocks of property. Houses surrounded by perfect lawns with enough space for a double garage and flower beds. For Karakura, having that much useless land around a house said they had actual money, not just upper middle class money like the Kurosaki family. It gave him a sudden bad idea. Pulling out his wallet, Ichigo flicked through his cards to the one he’d stuck in there yesterday. Ryuuken’s name and contact number was printed on it in neat, no-nonsense font. So was his home address. Punching it into his phone, Ichigo realised it was only another ten minutes away. Well, that sealed it. He kept walking, keeping his phone open for GPS directions.

The Ishida mansion, when it came into view, looked as sterile as the hospital that had financed it. A large three storey thing rendered in white cement and stone pillars, it looked like it had come from a Greek myth. Plain lawns surrounded it, devoid of any real colour like flowers or autumn trees, and before it all stood a massive fence of steel and cement that wrapped around the whole property. As Ichigo trudged up the driveway, he saw a small intercom box by the gate. It was marked with a familiar silver star. He pressed it before he could think twice about it.

For long seconds there was nothing. No answering echo of a chime, because the house was too far away. Finally there was a crackle of static from the speaker.

“The Ishida family already donates to the unfortunate,” said a snobbish male voice, and the line disconnected. Gritting his teeth, Ichigo hit the button repeatedly, ripping his wallet out with his other hand. The channel opened again. “Young man, I will call the authorities if you do not—” The voice broke off as Ichigo shoved the business card in front of the tiny camera.

“Gonna let me in now, Jeeves?”

“…Ishida-sama is not currently present in the household. I can schedule you in sometime next month if you prefer.”

Ichigo thought fast. “What about junior? Is he in? Tell him it’s Kurosaki Ichi—”

The gate buzzed and swung open so fast Ichigo leapt back a little. So it was the family name that was the key. Huh. Good to know. He jogged up the driveway and over to the main entrance.

When the door opened, a haggard, vaguely familiar looking guy answered. He was about Ichigo’s age, with milk-pale skin and expensive looking spectacles. His dark hair held almost a blue sheen to it. He looked desperately unhappy to see him. “Kurosaki. My father isn’t home.”

“Good,” Ichigo said bluntly. “Can we talk somewhere private?” When Ishida just looked at him with perplexed concern, Ichigo pulled out his mother’s pendant. It still had no chain, but it didn’t need one. “I’ve got a few questions. About stuff.”

“Stuff,” Ishida echoed, taking the pendant with careful fingers. He looked at it strangely; almost with some kind of warmth. He didn’t seem related to Ryuuken at all. Just the glasses, maybe, and the colour of his eyes. Maybe he was more his mother’s child, the way Ichigo was. He handed it back and nodded. “Outside, then. Come on.” Turning back, he called, “I’m going for a walk with a friend from school. I’ll take my dinner in the kitchens when I return.” Grabbing his shoes and tugging them on, he grabbed Ichigo’s sleeve and yanked him along with him.

“Friend?”

“It’s easier than explaining. The house staff don’t exactly answer to me.” Pushing his glasses up, Ishida swallowed a little. “Is it true my father wants to replace me as his successor?”

“What?” Ichigo said, aghast. “With me? How? I’m not his son.”

“Direct bloodline isn’t required.” The words were quenched of any bitterness. “Kurosaki and Ishida are two of the last pureblood lines that can harness the white arts. We’re interchangeable, and lately I’ve been disappointing Ryuuken greatly. It’s not entirely surprising that he’d look for other opportunities.” Ishida snorted softly as they passed the main gates, stabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the estate. “Right now he calls himself the last master. Imagine someone with that much ego, and then add an appallingly large property portfolio and shares in almost every influential business in Karakura. Ryuuken thinks he can do whatever he likes. Trust me, replacing his son with a better one is no matter to him.”

Well, that sounded horrifying. “You can tell him thanks, but I already have a dad.”

“Kurosaki Isshin,” Ishida agreed. “Middling surgeon, isn’t he? Emergency first aid seems to be all he knows, almost like he was only trained in field medicine. But I suppose he’s had twenty years to improve his skills. I could be wrong.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ichigo asked darkly. “Dad’s a liar?”

“I have no idea. Your family never really crossed my personal radar. My interest in you was only cursory; to make sure you had no idea of the white arts and what the wider world contained.”

“Witches.” The words had stopped tasting like insanity a while ago.

“That’s one word for us.” They made their way down the roadside path back toward the shopping centre. “It’s not really bubbling cauldrons and locks of hair boiled into potions. Witch just seemed like the easiest way to explain the way we can harness light and the spirits of our ancestors. Some have more power than others. Back before we were born, my father and your mother were arranged to be married so that another, stronger successor could be born.” Ishida smiled faintly. “Thanks to your father, they ended up with us instead.”

“Sounds like karma,” Ichigo said reflectively, like he even believed in that kind of thing. “So what about vampires?”

The faint smile vanished. “You’ve actually been studying.” He didn’t seem pleased by the information. “Well, vampires are low in number, mostly keeping their business discreet. Their population was almost plague-like hundreds of years ago; their nests were everywhere. We tamed their procreation with a few creative methods, and hunt them down wherever they appear. Humans have done nothing to warrant being turned into food for parasites.” Ishida sniffed dismissively. “And honestly, there haven’t been vampires in Karakura for at least fifty years, according to our records. My father’s reputation for exterminating them on sight probably had something to do with it.”

Ichigo tried to stay completely calm. “So vampires are like the ticks of the supernatural world? You just kill them before they can bite you?”

Ishida shrugged. “Theoretically, yes. I’ve never seen one, but why on earth _would_ you allow one to survive? Hunger dominates even the most thoughtful creature, when the hours between meals grows too long.”

“Well, exactly.” Something about the way Ishida said it pissed him off. “People freezing to death on mountains eat their dead. Animals eat their newborns for what seems like no reason at all. Hunger isn’t reserved just for things like vampires. If we can control ourselves, why can’t they? Or should we just kill everything with the potential to kill us first?” Ishida blinked owlishly at him, pushing his glasses up his nose a little. He didn’t immediately reply.

Ichigo was mad about it all and he knew it. Walking through the night like a moron with a guy whose first name he couldn’t actually remember, talking about his family and vampires and witches like they were part of some stupid secret society together. He couldn’t stop thinking about Grimmjow’s face as the flaming white arrow slammed him in the chest, lighting him up in monochrome shades of shock and pain. His eyes had been bleached almost white in that light, slitted down the middle like a cat’s eyes in full sunlight. His only real crime had been coming to see Ichigo after losing a packet of cigarettes. And biting him—though hindsight said Ichigo hadn’t fought back like he could have.

“My father says Masaki-san was soft like you,” Ishida said as they passed through the shopping district, breaking through a small crowd of people waiting neatly in line at a new ramen shop. The air on the other side of the crowd felt refreshingly cool. This was Ichigo’s neighbourhood; crowded and alive. “She had ideas about the old edicts that nobody agreed with, but they humoured her as the last Kurosaki heir.” His eyes narrowed. “Blood rules so many things in our world. Maybe she was right, and we were the ones who were wrong. Maybe you’re right, too, but it’s hardly my business.”

The way Ishida sounded so distanced from something that could totally affect his life pissed Ichigo off. Like whatever Ryuuken decided was already a foregone conclusion and there was no way to fight it. Like hell.

“Well, I don’t want anything to do with this witch stuff, so you’re not in any danger of me replacing you. Your dad gives me the creeps.”

“He’s a…difficult taskmaster.”

“You sound like one of those brainwashed victims,” Ichigo said flatly, and for some reason Ishida laughed.

“Aren’t all firstborn sons simply victims of their fathers?”

“Oh my god, are you all right? Do you need me to call the police?” But Ishida just laughed harder, actually poking a finger under his glasses to wipe the corner of his eye. “Seriously, maybe you should come over sometime for dinner. Get some real family time. Your house looks like it gets surgically sterilised of all emotion once a week.”

“You have a poetic way with words, Kurosaki. But I’m fine. At this point I’m part of the house itself. But who knows?” Reaching out, Ishida pulled Ichigo’s phone out of his pocket with two fingers and started tapping a number into it. Something chimed inside Ishida’s white pressed jacket. “Now we have each other’s number. If you need it, use it to text me. Never call, and certainly never show up at the house again.”

“Good talk,” Ichigo said, snorting. He took a few steps forward, but Ishida didn’t follow. He had a strangely sad cast to his features. The guy looked like he needed two weeks of straight sleep and maybe some vitamins. And maybe a new dad. Turning around, walking backwards, he asked one more question. “Hey, one last thing: what hurts us? Not silver or sunlight. So what? Nothing?”

It didn’t seem like Ishida was going to answer. He just stared across their growing distance with that same tired look, like all his years had tripled in the space of an hour. A difficult taskmaster. Or a slave-driving asshole. Shrugging back at him, Ichigo turned and started walking back home in earnest. He’d become a little nervous in the dark.

“The same thing that hurts everyone, Kurosaki. Love.”

The words hit Ichigo squarely between his shoulder-blades like a fist. When he turned around Ishida was already melting back into the ramen crowd, his dark head vanishing amongst the others. Ichigo stared after him with a head full of questions and complaints about the cryptic answer, but nothing really strung together into actual words. Love? What the hell kind of answer was love? Love wasn’t supposed to hurt.

Out of sorts from their meeting, feeling like he’d had all the information he didn’t want or need dumped over his head, Ichigo made it home in time to shower and have dinner with his family. His perfectly normal, loving family who didn’t give a shit about bloodlines or successors, who ate at their little dining table under the warm yellow ceiling lights, joking with each other and trading stories about their day. It was a plain meal, just chicken stir fry and noodles, but thinking of Ishida’s tired face it was hard not to be grateful for his sisters and even his complete goofball of a dad. Which reminded him.

“Hey, Dad,” Ichigo said over his bite of broccoli. “Ikumi’s been asking if you do annual physicals up here. It’s closer than the hospital for her and she knows you bulk bill.”

Isshin scratched his chin. “I’m licensed for it, I suppose. Does she mind getting naked in front of her beloved employee’s father?” He slurped a long reel of noodles into his mouth.

“I think she’d prefer it.”

Isshin sucked back one noodle too many and started hacking. “Does she know I’m married?”

Karin snorted loudly. “She knows you’re widowed, I bet. Twelve years a widow, Dad.”

“I’m a doctor! And now when I see her all I’m going to think about are her pillowy breasts!”

“So give her an exam,” Yuzu said, surprising everybody. She started chugging her water as Isshin squawked like a newly hatched chick. Karin just stole a huge chunk of chicken off Isshin’s plate while he was distracted. Ichigo found himself smiling at the table, his chin in his hand. Okay, maybe they could have it a lot worse.

“So, I spoke to Ishida today,” he interjected into the laughter. “The uh, younger one. Dark haired nerd with glasses.”

“Oh, Uryuu-kun?” Yuzu chirped, ignoring her father entirely. “He’s dreamy.”

“…if you’re into that,” Ichigo said reluctantly, thinking about smudged teal and a shock of blue hair. “Anyway, he confirmed the whole thing with his dad. We’re definitely not telling him anything anymore.” He blinked. “And apparently we’re all descended from witches, because Mom was absolutely a powerful one.”

"_What,_" Karin and Yuzu said in perfect, thrilling unison.

Naturally, he couldn’t get away from explaining himself on that front, which meant two entire hours were spent fielding questions that he had no idea how to answer beyond the kind of things Ishida and Grimmjow had told him. Harnessing light and spirits? That covered all kinds of shit he wasn’t clued in about. Isshin was surprisingly—or unsurprisingly—helpful, jumping in with the kind of off the cuff pieces of insight that he managed to shoehorn in as ‘just common sense’ for the girls. Ichigo was still pretty sure his father had some secrets of his own, but trusted him enough to let it lie. If it was anything dangerous, he’d never have hidden it from Karin and Yuzu. Ichigo, maybe, but that had more to do with how young he’d been when Ichigo was born, and how far they’d drifted after Mom had died.

Eventually the topic turned to Ichigo’s vampire attack. Unlike the other stuff, he felt himself grow small around that experience, locking it down possessively. He wasn’t ready to share Grimmjow with the world until he knew for sure whether he’d survived. Man, Ichigo hoped he’d survived.

“Want to watch more vampire movies before bed?” Yuzu asked Karin as they cleaned up dinner, and Ichigo almost dropped the plate he was scraping straight into the trash. “We have Blade II and What We Do In The Shadows still to go.”

“What’s the difference?” Karin asked without looking up from her scrubbing in the sink. Yuzu touched her chin with a thoughtful finger.

“Enemy alliances, or a comedic documentary.”

“Enemies?” Ichigo questioned.

“Yeah, like Blade kills vampires but he has to team up with them in this one. And lots of creative bombs!” Yuzu frowned slightly. “It doesn’t end very happily. Blade’s vampire lover dies.”

Ichigo stacked the dishes beside the sink with more force than he needed. “Hard pass. I’m going to have an early night. Maybe try some magic stuff instead. Harry Potter?”

“Practical Magic,” the girls said at the same time. Karin’s eyes actually gleamed. “It’s got everything, Ichi-nii. Everything. Sisters who actually look different, witches, romance, a scary ghost, cool aunts—”

“Okay, whatever. Watch that again.” It wasn’t like he was going to watch some witch movie twice. There was no cool potion to summon his soulmate to him. And there definitely wasn’t one to lure back an injured and furious vampire. Just a scribbled note that had probably blown away already. He should have written more on it. Weighed it down. A full explanation. Something. Well, whatever. Done was done.

Washing his face and brushing his teeth with more force than usual, Ichigo thought about the previous twenty-four hours. Life felt like it had completely turned inside out. It also felt like he was the only one it had turned inside out for. Even Ishida out there looking like lukewarm death seemed completely immune to the strangeness. The girls were mostly delighted and indulging about the idea of their witch heritage. Isshin was Isshin; more adult housemate than paternal figure, completely impervious to any great shock. Ichigo wished he had someone to confide in that might understand. Keigo or Chad would listen, but…hell, he didn’t really want to tell them either. Maybe he just wanted Grimmjow to come back and not try to kill him. For only an hour it had been kind of awesome to have a secret vampire friend. Or not a friend, Ichigo thought as he got changed and jumped into bed. In the dark, he moved his fingers in slow trails over his chest, mapping lines already drawn by a startlingly warm tongue. Not a friend, but something.

Definitely something.

* * *

Nothing banged on the window in the middle of the night, but muscle memory woke Ichigo anyway. He felt oddly lonely as he stared at the ceiling with blurry eyes, watching the spears of streetlight pierce weakly through the gaps in his curtains. Knowing he wouldn’t get back to sleep anytime soon, he reached up blindly onto the desk beside his bed and grabbed his phone. He had one new message from Ishida.

**[Glasses]:** _You can avoid Ryuuken all you want, but if you start to develop powers you’ll definitely have to see him. Or at the very least you’ll need to see me. He was on about it all tonight: the Kurosaki bloodline being full of wildcards, going crazy and developing weird power when they weren’t trained properly. Just something to think about at this point. _

Ichigo stared at his screen. Going crazy? Looking at the time, it was 2:58am. He tapped out a reply anyway.

_How do I know you’re not a manifestation of my weird witchy heritage? Maybe Ryuuken never had a son. Maybe you’re some sad ghost that died five hundred years ago._

He was smiling at his own reply when the phone dinged in his hand, scaring him into dropping it on his own face. Fucking ow.

**[Glasses]:** _I took Math with you for three years. I was there when you fell asleep at your desk and almost jammed your pencil up your nose. People can die from that you know. _

Ichigo scowled at the phone. That had only happened once.

_Go to sleep, four-eyes. Thanks for the information today._

**[Glasses]:** _You’re welcome._

Putting the phone back on his desk, Ichigo rolled over onto his side and stared at the tiny crack of light that peeked under the curtain. No bats streaked by, and nothing landed to smash the glass and accuse him of a setup. Nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

It really sucked.

* * *

Despite all the shock and turmoil of discovering witches and vampires, life went all the way back to normal within a month.

Ryuuken left Ichigo alone and didn’t try to contact the Unagiya Shop again. Fridays came and went; one, two three, four. Ishida didn’t text again, and Ichigo had no reason to either. Grimmjow never came back, and Ichigo didn’t try to get up on the bar rooftop again. He honestly didn’t want to see that place ever again if all it was going to show him was his own note left behind and some discarded beer bottles.

Slowly, piece by piece, it all faded away, beginning to seem more like a bad Halloween dream than anything that had really happened in the first place. The mundane life he’d been so happy with returned, but it chafed a little in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Full moons and dark nights seemed more interesting; Ichigo kept a new app on his phone that told him when they were coming, and he started to lean out his window some nights and watch the slow arc of a heavy moon make its way across the sky, noting all its phases and what they looked like. It didn’t give him anything, but it felt like he was still keeping something fragile alive.

Isshin gave him the newly repaired chain for his mother’s pendant, but Ichigo didn’t place it back around his neck. Instead he wound it around his wrist, where the star could fall neatly into his palm if he needed it. He never needed it.

It was two months after Halloween, mere minutes before the turn of a new year, when Ichigo found himself sitting out on the clinic roof with a bag of gummy worms, wearing nothing but his sweatpants and a shirt with all kinds of stupid dreams filling up his head. It wasn’t the huge festival that the twins and Isshin had gone to, but he preferred it that way. Preferred the quiet night. It felt like with the old year being left behind and a new one stretching glittering and mysterious in front of him, he was about to lose something important. Two days that had almost changed his life, about to be catalogued and shelved like nothing much in particular. An almost-story that ended before it could begin.

Maybe Halloween hadn’t been that bad after all.

Four minutes before midnight, Ichigo shoved a gummy worm into his mouth and wished he’d kept the lighter. Some tangible memory would have been nice. The clean slate of the coming year felt like a curse. What was the city council going to do about the bar? It needed someone to take care of it. Since it was Ryuuken’s fault, maybe—no. Fuck that genocidal maniac. Everything was too little, too late. All of it.

Sitting back against the replaced wooden panels of the house, Ichigo fished around in the bag for his favourite flavour. He didn’t love them, but Yuzu had been cleaning out her two month old stash of Halloween candy and dumped it all on him. Worms for days. Sticking a red-blue one into his mouth and chewing automatically, he watched the fireworks streak up into the sky like multicoloured arrows of light. Guess it was time for a new year.

Sitting in the cold of the burgeoning winter night, Ichigo curled his feet inside his socks and tipped his head back against the ledge of his window. It was a nice night at least, with glittering stars and a huge yellow moon in phase, not quite full. The vampire had said something about the moon phases, hadn’t he? Halloween always missing its full moon. Maybe December 31st had the same problem. Big dates missing the mark. Ichigo could relate.

He was so busy staring up at the sky with poetic, mournful loss that he didn’t notice the mist until it was stealing his entire bag of gummy worms from beside him. Hearing the crackle of disturbed plastic, he slapped his hand down on the bag with the automatic movements of someone with grabby siblings. Glancing down, he sucked in a breath at the sight of his feet surrounded with white mist, slowly creeping up the slope of the roof with gentle snaking tendrils. It felt cold, and a little damp.

Something bit on him on ankle.

“Ow! Fuck off!” Ichigo yelled, unreasonably delighted and totally confused by his own response. “Grimmjow? You’re alive?” Realisation came an instant later. “Holy shit, get off my roof! You’re gonna get shot again!” Grabbing the gummy bag, he started flapping it like a fan to ward off the mist chewing on his ankle. It did absolutely dick all. The mist billowed and thickened up, pulling back in to form arms and legs and an entire body. It cleared into Grimmjow the vampire, sitting beside him like it was two months ago and Ichigo had just pissed in his cigarettes. He looked pretty worn, but not in a way that said he was going to die. Just tired.

“Fucking give me those gummy worms,” Grimmjow said crankily, pulling the bag out of his hand and yanking out an orange and green worm. “I haven’t fed in a week.”

Ichigo blinked. “Do the worms help?”

“No, fuckwit, but biting them stops me biting you.” He looked hilariously pissed off, eating like a pregnant woman satisfying a craving. Ichigo watched him chew another handful and swallow before he pulled his sleeves down over his hands and hauled in a small breath.

“I thought you were dead.”

“I am dead.”

“More dead than this. Properly dead.” Ichigo swallowed again, tasting sugar and raspberry in the back of his throat. “And that maybe you thought I caused it. Which I didn’t, I swear, I had no idea that asshole was tailing me but I made sure he’s going to leave me alone from now on—” When Grimmjow just stared at him, face half-illuminated by the pop and shatter of fireworks high overhead and his eyes flaring light back at him, Ichigo felt his cheeks flame with embarrassment. Fuck. So much for being cool. “Look, I’m really sorry you got shot in the chest because of me.” He grabbed a handful of worms from the bag and started chewing just to shut himself up.

For a few minutes, there was nothing but the sound of fireworks and the two of them chewing on artificially flavoured confectionery. Grimmjow put out no heat whatsoever, despite being so close. The cast of his skin looked greyish even in the shifting light of the new years festivities. More corpse than the rocker vampire he’d appeared as that night.

“I knew you didn’t have anything to do with it.” Grimmjow wasn’t looking at him. “Took me about twelve seconds after getting shot to figure that out, and you haven’t left me alone since. Always guilt, guilt, guilt. Couldn’t shut you out. Two months of it. Fucking forgive yourself already.”

Ichigo wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to keep his warmth inside. “Is that why you came back here? To shut me up?”

“No, it was to show you this.” Twisting to face Ichigo, Grimmjow ripped his white shirt out of his jeans and pulled it all the way up, revealing a pale, scarred torso. It was a really nice chest, actually, and a great set of abs to boot. There were a couple of nicks and slices that took up space, but the big winner was the star-shaped scar perfectly centred below the dip of his collarbone. And—

“Where’s the arrow scar?” Ichigo blurted, suddenly realising why he was being treated to a show. He looked up to see Grimmjow’s mouth ticking up in a wry smile. “I thought you said witches left scars.”

“They do.” The shirt was released to cover his chest again. “Turns out witch blood negates their power, and I had a shitload of it in my system when I was shot.” A long arm settled around Ichigo’s shoulders, jamming him in close. “Guess you’re made of magic after all.”

“So I saved you?”

“Sure fucking did. Asshole.”

“You’re an asshole. Two months? You could tell I was worried!”

“I said you saved me, not that I could visit and didn’t. You know how hard it is to regenerate a shredded heart?”

“Is it harder than sending me some kind of psychic vampire message?” Ichigo watched Grimmjow’s expression wrinkle up into something horrid. “Okay fine, maybe I got that from a movie. My sisters have been watching every vampire movie ever made since I told them I was bitten in an alley.”

“More witches?” Grimmjow sounded way too interested.

“Sixteen year-old witches. Twins, actually.”

“Identical?”

“No,” Ichigo said cautiously. “Fraternal. They’re like night and day, actually.” Something complicated flickered over Grimmjow’s face and vanished into a smooth mask of indifferent vampirism.

“Well, whatever. One witch is more than enough.” Turning his face into Ichigo’s cheek, he sniffed deeply. “Soapy, just like before. Probably taste as clean as you smell. Don’t s’pose you’re feeling guilty enough to let me get a proper bite on you.” The hand hanging down his other side was curling around his bicep, cool as marble.

“Define proper bite,” Ichigo said, breathing lightly and trying not to let on how his skin had broken out in goosebumps.

“I mean I bite your neck real good, and you let me do it without burning a hole in my hide.”

Ichigo swallowed. “Will I be okay afterwards? There’s no way I’ll die or change into a vampire, right?”

“None. I’m pretty good at this.” Nosing into the soft cotton of his shirt, Grimmjow mouthed the reinforced collar a little. His breath was cold. “C’mon, Ichigo. Don’t make me say please.”

“You know my name,” Ichigo said, startled. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that he’d been paying attention that night. “I mean, no. You absolutely can’t bite me.” Grimmjow’s head shot out of his neck almost instantly, eyes glaring at him with a thin, glittering kind of hunger. The kind of eyes a starving wild animal had. “At least, not here. Remember last time? Ryuuken?”

“Fuck that witch asshole.” Grimmjow pushed his face back into the bare skin of Ichigo’s neck. His lips were softer than his cheek and they glided up and down the thick tendon of his neck. “Let me risk it. I want to risk it. I’m starving.”

“But—”

“Everything tastes like watered down shit now that I’ve had you.”

Ichigo’s breath stilled in his throat. For a long, long moment he just held still and felt the fluttering tease of lips moving over the side of his neck, tugging at the veins there with soft suction. He refused to classify it as a kiss.

“Give me my lighter back first.”

Grimmjow tensed. His whole body tensed. “I didn’t bring it.”

“Then I guess it’s—”

“But I will. Tomorrow night. Promise.”

The idea of Grimmjow promising to come back tomorrow night more than made up for everything. Two nights in a row. No arrows to interrupt them. What was a tiny little bite compared to that? Trying to keep his cool, looking off into the fireworks, Ichigo just scratched his cheek a little. You know, like it was nothing.

“Okay then. Since it’s a promise.” Now _that_ definitely felt like a kiss; a sweet, wet tug on the side of his neck. No teeth, just a soft, affectionate sort of pull. The gliding edge of a slightly rough tongue followed it; barely there and hardly noticed. Ichigo suddenly understood how vampires had gotten their reputation for being seducers. Even just preparing for a meal felt like he was being treasured, or worshipped. It was nice.

More than nice. Ichigo didn’t even flinch when teeth entered his throat in a quick, piercing strike that he barely felt. Vampire anaesthesia sure was something else. Then there was nothing but the hot pull of a greedy, swallowing mouth against his skin. It felt different to having his wrist bitten: more personal, and way more sensitive. He could smell Grimmjow’s shampoo and the familiar smell of leather coming of his worn jacket, tinged with cigarette smoke. There was a hand in his hair, running up from the nape of his neck to hold him in place. That totally didn’t explain why Grimmjow’s fingers were tugging and sliding through his messy orange spikes as he drank. Closing his eyes, Ichigo let his own hands wander a little, fingers climbing over white laces until he could touch the flat scar he’d given him. It felt smooth in the instant before cold fingers twined around his, pulling his hand away. The mouth on his neck never once stopped moving.

Being bitten sure wasn’t anything like the horror movies. There was no snarling, no ripped open throat, no blood spraying everywhere. Grimmjow really was good at it; he was quiet and clean, never letting a single drop go to waste. Ichigo felt the slide of his tongue a couple of times to catch anything, or maybe just to keep him bleeding. It should have been revolting. Degrading. He should be worried about infections and when Grimmjow had last brushed his teeth. But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Not a bit.

Finally, Grimmjow nuzzled his mouth in against the bite and gave it a final lick, sighing in deep satisfaction as he broke away. The night air felt icy against his exposed neck. Blinking himself out of his languor, feeling like a nice dream had just been ripped away from him, Ichigo clapped his hand over the bite. The skin felt damp, but nothing hurt.

“Doesn’t even sting,” Ichigo muttered, prodding the punctures. Grimmjow just moved away and stretched; a long, limber arch of his back that made his shoulders pop and shiver. His expression was glowing.

“Fuck. Yeah. I feel almost alive again,” he groaned, booted heels clacking down on the roof tiles. “Don’t think I can ever go back to drinking straight human now.” He darted Ichigo a sidelong glance. “You feeling all right?”

“Huh? Yeah.” Did he feel all right? It was hard to tell. “Is it always like that when you bite people?”

“Like what?”

“You know…nice.”

“Nice?” Grimmjow repeated. He looked sort of surprised. “But I didn’t even glamour you.”

“Never mind.” Glamour? Ichigo hunched up a little, folding his arms across his stomach. He felt colder than ever, but like hell he was going inside so soon. “So what do you do all night? Other than prowl around alleys and jump random guys just trying to get home.” Memory came back to Ichigo, making him frown. “You know, you said you were going to make sure I didn’t live to see next Halloween. What changed there? Did you secretly like me pissing on your—”

“No! Shut up!” Grimmjow was struggling with the snap button on the cuff of his jacket. “I was hungry and I had a witch cross burnt into my fucking chest. The only reason I didn’t snap your neck was because I figured it’d sign my damn death warrant. The white master in this place is ruthless.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have moved here then,” Ichigo pointed out. “Seems kind of like you’re tempting fate.”

“Hey, keep your enemies close, right? Besides, I had to. Won the deed to that bar in a card game.”

“The bar that’s completely closed up and locked down?” Ichigo said dryly. Grimmjow won whatever battle he was waging on his jacket and yanked it off completely, throwing it around Ichigo’s shoulders. It wasn’t warm from wear, but it held off the chill of the night almost instantly. “Are you always this chivalrous to your food?” A hand instantly tried to grab the jacket back. Snorting, Ichigo held it closer and leaned away, shoving away the reaching fingers. “Get lost! It’s mine now.”

“_For_ now. Witchy bastard.” But Grimmjow settled back with a scowl, looking uncomfortable. “Usually I just bite, glamour and run. Humans heal up real quick, so it’s not like I need to explain anything. Few sips a night, just from whoever I like the look of. No bodies lying around to give the cops any ideas.” He prodded at one of his fangs with a fingertip. It was still long, but not its full bite length. “I don’t do much with my nights. Watch the sky up on the roof, mostly. Gotta keep a low profile if I want to stay here—that Ryuuken guy kills anything supernatural that isn’t a witch, no questions asked. Take one fucking guess why the vamp I played poker with was so happy to throw down the ownership of _Mala Suerte_." The bitterness in his voice couldn’t be masked. Reaching over, Ichigo patted his shoulder awkwardly.

“Sounds lonely.”

“Shut it. I’m a vampire. Being a loner is part of my charm.”

“You think you’re charming?”

“I’ll fucking kill you,” Grimmjow grated, grabbing the lapels of the jacket and yanking Ichigo over by them. Teeth snapped at his neck and jaw, sharp and gleaming like knives. They didn’t come close to actually biting him for real. Ichigo shoved his hand over the snapping jaws and pushed his face to the side, leaning back. There was a warm laugh bubbling in his chest that he didn’t know what to do with. Was he really playing with a vampire? They pushed at each other for a few more seconds before losing interest, finally just kind of smiling like idiots in the dark. The last of the fireworks shot up into the night sky like comets; brilliant blue and pink and green. Grimmjow’s eyes flashed as the light reflected from them, an amber-gold blaze that vanished when he blinked and looked away.

“I think you should open the bar,” Ichigo said quietly sometime later, fishing around in the bag of gummy worms again. There was nothing but the gross flavours left, but looking in there was better than seeing Grimmjow’s expression. “The city council is offering you an interest-free loan to refurbish it if you do, and I think if you have a real presence in Karakura it’ll make it harder for Ryuuken to just kill you without consequence.”

The silence rang out like a reply all its own. Ichigo stood his ground and waited.

“Wouldn’t work,” Grimmjow said flatly. “Like he wouldn’t just do it anyway. Blazing arrows of light aren’t exactly a common murder weapon, and you’ve never seen a dead vampire. Nobody is going to jail for killing one of my kind. Asshole’s got free rein.”

“Not if you hire me, he doesn’t.” The words were out before Ichigo could think twice. He hadn’t even thought about that at all, but now that it was out there he realised that maybe it could actually work. He turned to Grimmjow in excitement, willing his reticent cold vampire negativity to thaw. Reaching out to squeeze his wrist was second nature. “I’m a Kurosaki, aren’t I? The only other bloodline that people like him respect. Maybe if you’re under my protection or whatever, maybe he can’t touch you. You’re not really hurting anyone, anyway—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Grimmjow jerked away angrily. “Who the hell are you? This is my fuckin’ life here. I’m not getting involved in any of this witch shit. Don’t go thinking you’re anything but an expensive meal, kid.” Stung by the sudden ferocity, Ichigo stared at him. Then he licked his lips and tried again.

“I’ll let you keep drinking my blood if you do it.” When Grimmjow’s teeth slanted down past his lower lip in instinctive hunger, Ichigo smiled a little through his hurt feelings. “My sisters can clean the place before opening and hand out flyers and drink vouchers, and I can work the nights til about three am behind the bar. My friend Keigo knows some local bands trying to get a start in the club scene, so they’d perform for free a couple times a week. It’ll be easy.” Might as well go all in if he was going to sell the idea properly. “So how about it, boss? Want to save the neighbourhood and quit hiding from witches?”

“I—” Swallowing, Grimmjow grabbed his jacket back and threw it on, jumping to his feet in a hurry that looked almost human. His jaw was tight, but nothing could hide the way his fangs were out or the bright feral glow of his eyes. There was a startled sort of life in his eyes where the angry bitterness had been a moment ago. “Look, thanks for the meal, but don’t fuckin’ think you can just come up with an idea and it’ll magically happen.” He snorted at his own choice of words. “Maybe to you I’ve got a shitty life, but it’s better than nothing.”

Well that wasn’t what he’d been saying at all. Getting up in a rush, shivering against the plummeting temperature of the night, Ichigo grabbed the edge of his jacket. “Will you still come back tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, you’ll get your fuckin’ lighter back.” Grimmjow hardly looked up as he tugged himself free. Ichigo chewed his lip.

“If you’re pissed at me because I think you deserve to have more than what you’ve got right now, I’m not apologising. I’m not sorry.” And he wasn’t; just because Grimmjow was riling up at the idea of Ichigo changing his entire life didn’t mean he wasn’t making some excellent points while he did it. “Besides, I’m trying to move out of home and I could really use a second job. I’m not a damn saint, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Mist was billowing out around Grimmjow’s feet, climbing up his legs and dissolving them. “Don’t come by the bar again til I say so. I don’t want you up in my face all the time.” The mist enveloped the rest of him in a rush, carrying him away. Ichigo sagged a little. So much for ending on a hopeful note. Well, at least he could go inside again and warm up.

“He seems nice,” said a wistful female voice beside him. “Your father used to wear a jacket like that.”

Ichigo went rigid, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. Fear and pure, thunderstruck shock whited out his ability to even gasp. Instead he watched the woman float up to the edge of the roof and look out at the night, her translucent white dress blowing in a ghostly breeze. Long waves of brown hair fell down her back, held in at her nape with a small plastic clip. Ichigo remembered that clip.

“M-Mom?”

Kurosaki Masaki tilted her head as though she’d heard something in the distance—and vanished into the cold winter night, her form swallowed up by the dark. It happened like a spell had broken and Ichigo’s nerve went with it. He made himself get back in through his window with robotic, autopilot movements, eyes wide and staring.

Blood loss hallucination, Ichigo told himself later, blankets pulled all the way up to his nose. Sleep deprivation. The cold. But not ghosts. Not _her_ ghost.

Suddenly Halloween felt like it had never really ended after all.

* * *

In a tried and true coping method, Ichigo put it completely out of his head. Even if he couldn’t explain it, acknowledging it just felt like a bad idea all round. He spent the next day working his ass off and then taking an iron supplement shot in that same ass from Isshin, who strangely didn’t ask a single question. Or lately, not so strangely.

Grimmjow occupied a lot of Ichigo’s thoughts during the day. He was absolutely feral and took every opportunity to bite him, but there was something fascinating about how easily he’d started talking to Ichigo. No weird dramatics, just a couple of threats and showing off his scars—and lack of. Witch blood must be something pretty special if he could heal up a wound that terrible. If Grimmjow was smart he’d keep Ichigo around. What worried him though was that Grimmjow seemed more stubborn than smart, and he’d pushed too hard with the club idea and spooked him.

It was a good idea though.

Afternoon melted into evening and then night. Ichigo cleaned up after dinner with his sisters and all but bolted to his bedroom to wait, sitting on his bed in the darkness while he scrolled through his phone. He was making a list of vampire ‘facts’ that he wanted to ask about. Like the counting thing. Did Grimmjow need to stop and count things? Maybe he should empty a bag of gummy worms on the roof and see what happened. The garlic thing would be an easy test, too.

At about one am, something hit his window with a hard, meaningful thump. Ichigo was up and out of bed to open the window before he could even properly wake up from his doze, sticking his head out eagerly into freezing cold rain and absolutely nobody on the roof. Not even a creepy bat hanging around from the eaves.

On the window ledge was a lighter with a black cat on it holding down a slip of paper. Ichigo grabbed both and slammed the window shut, grabbing his phone to light the piece of paper so he could read. The note was brief.

_Get your service of alcohol permit. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it fuckin legally._

_I still think you’re insane. But maybe you’re my kind of insane. _

_Mala Suerte must have nine lives._

_-G_

Gripping the lighter tightly enough that the plastic creaked, Ichigo smiled so hard his face fucking hurt. His eyes dropped to the bottom of the paper, where something was written in tiny script.

_P.S: I pissed on the lighter. _

“Gross!” The lighter went sailing across the room, but even that couldn’t bring Ichigo down from his high. He threw himself down on his bed, laughing at the ceiling like a moron. Everything about it just felt right. Showing Ryuuken they weren’t scared, opening a cool bar and working with an honest to god vampire? It sounded like exactly the kind of thing a witch would do. Not a shitty witch, but a good one. One like maybe his mom had been. Reaching over onto the desk, he fumbled around until his fingers touched a spoke of pure silver. He pulled it down and blinked at the star’s silhouette in the dark, holding it up beside the note.

Definitely not a traditional witch. If he was going to do this thing, he’d do it his way. And he was going to do it with Grimmjow.

“Happy Halloween, Mom,” Ichigo whispered. “Wish me luck.”

Nine lives, a vampire and a bar named _Mala Suerte_.

Yeah. That sounded extremely witchy to him.

**Author's Note:**

> 💋💋💋


End file.
